Big sis’ coming through; Chey wrapping up the thesis!

Lisa and Lila.Lisa, my older sister, came down and stayed with us for a little over a week. She helped take care of Lila while Chey was finishing up her Masters thesis. She was a tremendous help; I’m sure that Chey would not have her completed draft (80 some pages, not including appendices) had it not been for Lisa’s help during the “cruch-time.”

Chey does her committee review up at Central Michigan University this Wednesday. The end of this MA program draws near!

No broccoli, no ice cream!

We seem to have hit another phase of parenting: the battle of the wills.

Yesterday evening our plan was to get together with some friends and walk down to an ice cream shop together. But, as we were wrapping up dinner and getting ready to go, Lila refused to eat her broccoli. It was just one really little piece. I even cut the stem short for her. She wouldn’t eat it.

“Lila, you have to eat that broccoli before you can have any ice cream.” We had made the fateful step. You can’t take something like that back.

To make a long story short, a solid hour later we had met up with our friends and walked to the ice cream shop, and Lila still had a wet piece of broccoli in her mouth.

“Swallow your broccoli, honey,” had become a mantra. “Eat your broccoli or you can’t have any ice cream.”

Lila was taking it quite well. Every so often she would point at someone else’s dessert, and we would answer with our mantra. She would then look around, unphazed. She danced, looked at birds, and played with Josh, the young son a couple we were with.

On the walk back, she rode on my shoulders and sang her own version of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” through her mouth full of broccoli.

Finally she showed us her empty mouth when I took her down from my shoulders. We cheered that she had eaten the broccoli. I hoped she would forget about the ice cream.

When we were getting ready to get back in the van, she said to me quietly, “May I have ice cream, please?” Very polite, like we had taught her.

I kneeled down and looked into her eyes. “Honey, it’s too late for ice cream. If you had finished your broccoli at the ice cream shop, you could have had some. We are not there anymore, so it is too late to get ice cream, okay”

“Okay daddy.” Her eyes started to get a little watery. I could see that was trying not be upset. I pulled her into a hug.

“I’m sad that you can’t have ice cream.”

I was told to relax

So Chey, Lila, and I were cleaning up our house this morning. Lila, about 2.5 years old, walked up to me and held up her pointer finger. It had a grey smudge on it.

“Looks like you got a little dirty,” I said to her.

“Yeah,” she said, and started to wipe her finger off on my shirt. She then decided to wipe off the dirt on her nearby blanket.

“Did you just wipe your dirty finger on my shirt, Lila?” I feigned affront.

“NO! On my blanket! Relax Dad.”

I am alone.

Okay, so that’s a little dramatic.

Chey and Lila are down in Richmond, Indiana for a week and a half. They are staying with some friends of ours (they also have a two-year old). Chey is on spring break (she teaches at Lansing Community College), and she is taking this opportunity to hole up in our friend’s guest room to compose the remainder of her Masters thesis.

Which leaves me here at home for that period of time. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with all the free time. Well, I better plan it before it fills itself up.

“Go kitchen. Cook food.” Lila,

“Go kitchen. Cook food.”
Lila, my two-year old daughter, and I were sitting on our couch a couple evenings ago while Chey was out.

Lila, tired from playing, rested her head down on a stack of clean clothes and pointed to a blanket. I tucked her into the blanket.

“My sleeping,” she said.

Then she pointed to the kitchen and directed me, “Go kitchen. Cook food.”